


Retaliation

by IntoTheGallifray



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, Ruminate, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29097498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheGallifray/pseuds/IntoTheGallifray
Summary: Thank you, as always, to my amazing beta/twin/leading lady San!! <3NOTE:  In earlier centuries, the word "fuck" first meant "to strike", before taking on the meaning we all know and love today ;)
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young (Let's Play)
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**What if Sir Charles Jones had accepted?**

"Princess Samara!" Samara turned toward the exasperated voice of her handmaiden, Ms. Tilly Whipple; though to most she was known as ‘The Whip’.

"Yes, Tilly?" she arched an eyebrow.

"Where do you think _you_ are going?" Tilly demanded, hands akimbo, "Tomorrow is your wedding day and you've yet to begin the traditional preparations!"

"Honestly, Tilly," Samara had to resist rolling her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe, "You need not be so dramatic. I am merely going for a bit of air before you lash me down with corset laces to that torture device you called a 'preparation chair'."

"I'll give you dramatic," the frazzled handmaiden grumbled under her breath.

"What was that?" Samara asked teasingly as she leaned toward the older woman.

"I'll give you _dramatic_ ," Tilly repeated more loudly, "I know very well that you heard me, you cheeky brat." While her tone was one of frustration, it was belied by the smirk attempting to blossom across the handmaiden's face.

"Tilly, please, just a few moments," Samara pouted, eyes shining.

Tilly stared her down for only a second before sighing in resignation, "Have it your way then, but I'll be coming with you."

"I do _not_ need a chaperone!" exclaimed Samara, "I promise I shan't be long."

"I will give you until the Royal Tailor arrives with your gown," Tilly crossed her arms, "Otherwise I _will_ hunt you down."

"Thank you, dear Tilly!" Samara smiled, immediately brightening up and running off.

She rushed down the cobblestone corridor, making efforts to ensure her footsteps were quiet. Rounding a corner, descending a few stairs, and pushing open a heavy oak door had Samara entering her favourite room of the entire castle: The Library. She inhaled the comforting aroma of leather-bound pages, books lining the room from floor to ceiling. Almost every volume imaginable was here, at her fingertips. She'd spent the better part of a decade collecting, trading, searching, and unearthing every tome she caught wind of; including some incredibly rare works of which there were no other copies. She noted how empty the library was as she made for her favourite spot; a quiet, secluded aisle in the back, lit by the light pouring in through a large window at which sat a cozy nook she often sequestered herself away in. It looked out over the kingdom and the forest beyond, occasionally lending a view of the magical creatures that lived within. In the centre of the aisle stood a large stone column, one she'd spent many an hour leaning against while poring over countless books, trying to hide from an insistent Tilly who would tell her off for not completing her ‘Royal Duties’. Samara was never one for slacking, but her beloved handmaiden seemed to have no inkling of the phrase 'give and take'. She reverently ran her fingers along the well-loved spines lining the shelf, then jumped as a large hand clamped gently over her mouth, muffling her surprised yelp. She recognized his scent even before his hushed voice spoke, relaxing against her betrothed, Sir Charles Jones.

"I thought I might find you here," he murmured into her ear, voice rumbling through her.

" _You_ are not supposed to see me the night before the wedding," she chastised him playfully, turning in his grasp.

"It is not yet even dusk," he smirked, glancing toward the window, "And besides, I couldn't go another moment of being unable to lay my gaze upon that beautiful face."

"Ever the romantic," she rolled her eyes, though a telltale blush rose on her cheeks.

"For you, yes," he said quietly, pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss.

"How is it that you always render me weak in the knees?" she marvelled, reaching to brush a stray lock of blond hair out of his face.

"Because you do the very same to me, and I do so enjoy sharing the wealth," he smirked, kissing her cheek.

"What if I do _this_?" she spoke seductively, leaning up to nip at his neck then soothing it over with a kiss.

"Then I should have to retaliate," he murmured, kissing along her collarbones.

"If this is retaliation, then perhaps I should attack more often," she breathed, meeting his lips with her own and tugging on his lower lip with her teeth.

Charles glanced over his shoulder then spun her so that she was leaning against the column, palms planted on the cool stone. He pressed himself flush against her backside, hands gripping her hips as he whispered, "I am not averse to advancing, my Lady."

Her breath hitched as she felt one of his hands slide up her side, stopping just short of cupping her breast. She ground her rear against his groin, having felt his reaction to their proximity, and smiled at the soft groan she elicited from him.

"And I am not one to back down," she replied breathily.

"Indeed," he chuckled, pressing hard kisses to the side of her neck, though ensuring to not leave a mark.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips as the scent of her arousal hit him full force, Samara able to feel it trickle down her thighs. In that moment, she remembered a new meaning to an old word she'd learned from Duchess Monica, finding it felt right just then, gasping, "Fuck me, please, my love."

Something about the need in her voice caused Charles' cock to twitch, though her words had him pause. He licked a line along the shell of her ear as he pondered, _'She wants me to hit her?'_ He'd never once and never would strike a woman, but in this context, he thought he might understand something that could be enjoyable for both of them.

"As you wish," he growled, reaching down and hiking up her skirts so that the exquisite curve of her alabaster buttock was exposed, momentarily stunned by her lack of underthings as he commented, "You seem to have forgotten your undergarments."

"Only because I suspected I might run into you today," she replied coyly.

He slid his fingers down and kneaded her flesh lightly before delivering a gentle slap, feeling her tremble beneath him, accompanied by a sharp inhale.

"Was that what you had in mind?" he intoned into her hair, tracing circles over her skin with his thumb.

"Not quite," she whimpered, "But I certainly would not stop you from doing it again."

He grinned devilishly against her bared shoulder and repeated the motion, ensuring to massage the area lightly after.

"Any other requests, your Grace?" he whispered, his evident arousal nestled just between her rear cheeks.

"Perhaps I should use plain English," she responded, turning her head so she could look at him through her lashes, "I wish for you to make love to me, my Knight. Hard, with abandon, as though nothing exists in this world except for us."

He took a second to internally assert his self-control, having been a hairsbreadth from granting this very wish several times over in the past few days, "Such heady words, Princess."

Charles couldn't stop his fingers from gliding around her thigh and splaying across her lower abdomen, able to feel her heat.

"Do you not feel the same?" she asked, biting her lower lip to prevent herself from begging him to move his hand lower, "We've thus far done everything _but."_

"And I am afraid I must keep it that way," he said reluctantly, pulling back from her.

Her dress hem fell to the floor as she turned to look at him, a flash of hurt behind her eyes, "Do you not want me?"

He regarded her for a second, taking in her still flushed cheeks, darkened eyes, and ruffled clothing, before pressing her against the stone column in a fiery kiss. 

"Does _this_ feel like I am not wanting?" he growled, rolling his hips so she was again able to feel just how much he ached for her.

"Then why-"

He silenced her with another kiss, his tongue running along her upper lip before rasping out, "Trust me, Love, I have been _more_ than wanting to acquiesce to that very request since our first moment together. But I held myself back for one exact reason."

She watched him, chocolate brown meeting ocean blue, remaining silent as he spoke tenderly, his gaze not leaving hers, "I wish for our wedding night to be truly special, you deserve that much." Then his rough baritone reverberated through her as he continued, "And tomorrow, I promise you, Samara, that when I finally take you to bed, I will have you screaming so loudly that none in the kingdom will sleep."

Samara struggled for words as she squeezed her legs together at the thought, finally managing, "I wish that it were tomorrow now."

"As do I, my Love," he said as he kissed her neck once again, "Though I feel I cannot let you leave without a small taste of what's to come, or rather," his lips brushed against her ear as he continued, "I cannot leave you untasted."

Before she could decipher his meaning, he sank to one knee in front of her, her cheeks immediately flushing crimson.

"Charles, you know you don't have to prostrate yourself for me," her voice was hoarse, overcome as she was with desire for him.

"My Lady," he murmured, hands grasping her ankles in a way that gathered the material of her skirts, slowly sliding them up her legs, "I will _always_ kneel for you."

He kissed his way up her legs as they were bared to him, brushing his lips over areas he already knew to be sensitive, reveling in every moan, every gasp, every twitch. Once the fabric of her dress was at her waist, he guided her hands to hold them there while his pinned her hips, unable to tear his eyes away from what lay beneath. Charles had seen her this way before, but still he never ceased to be in awe; both of her and what she was willing to give him. He bent his head and lazily licked along her glistening folds, looking up to lock his gaze with hers as he did so. He did it a few times, relishing in how it made her lower lip tremble and her breath come in pants. He then swirled his tongue around her clit before sucking it between his lips, continuing to play over its surface as he saw her knuckles whiten from her grip on her skirts. He released the sensitive nub with a soft 'pop' and took a moment to lift her leg and hook it over his shoulder before plunging his tongue deeply into her, able to see her stifle her cry by biting her lip. He alternated between circling over her clit to thrusting inside of her, slowly watching her resolve crumble beneath his ministrations. Through it all, she'd maintained eye contact and so was able to watch him bring his free hand up her inner thigh. He paused only to extend two fingers, then slid them inside of her while his mouth worked on the bundle of nerves just above, curling his digits toward him as they sank deeply. Her eyes rolled back and she had to bring a hand to her mouth, biting into it to stop herself from moaning loudly. Samara felt like she was on fire, but only wanted to burn further. He built up a torturous rhythm with his fingers, tongue dancing an accompanied melody as he brought her closer to climax, the fluttering of her walls around him, the shaking of her legs, and the sheen of sweat on her brow his guiding indications. Charles hastened his movements, adding a minute twist to his hand as he felt her rising to meet her peak, as if the very crescendo were hanging in the air around them. A final sinuous circuit with his tongue followed by a hard suck, matched with the speed of his fingers and he knew she'd reached her pinnacle, struggling to keep her cries muffled even as her face contorted in ecstasy. He coaxed her down with some languid strokes of his tongue, waiting until she could focus on him again before licking his fingers clean. He made to stand, surprised by the strength with which Samara gripped his lapels to pull him into a hard kiss, one which he fervently returned.

"Your turn, my Prince," she murmured against his lips.

"It will be my turn when I am _truly_ yours, in every sense of the word," he replied, kissing her once more then stepping back.

Before she could argue, her head whipped in the direction of a loud frustrated voice that huffed from behind her, " _There_ you are, did I not say I would hunt you down?"

Samara quickly turned back and saw that Charles was hiding behind the column, his finger to his lips indicating she not mention his presence. She smiled and squeezed his hand lightly before spinning on her heel and walking briskly toward her handmaiden.

"Yes Tilly, I'm _coming,_ " she purposely emphasized the latter word, able to picture the smirk on her beloved's face.

_'And I'll wipe that smirk clean off tomorrow night,'_ she thought to herself as she followed Tilly, mind whirring with ideas of retaliation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some love for Valentines Day to all of you <3 Hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, many hearts to my valentines, San (for beta-ing) and Reine (for drawing a collaborative art piece which I will attach if I can figure out how!)

Princess Samara clung to the neck of her new Prince Consort, Charles Jones. It was their long-awaited wedding night, and they'd finally managed to sneak away from the ongoing festivities. He'd swept her off her feet the instant they were out of sight, heading straight for their new bedroom. Samara protested that it was unnecessary and she was perfectly capable of walking, but her new husband had insisted he would be carrying her across the threshold. While he held her, she admired the angle of his jaw, noting the smirk of his that was just for her. The day had gone by so quickly, the morning full of preparation and badgering from Tilly, followed by an early afternoon ceremony in the courtyard. There hadn't been a dry eye in the kingdom when they'd exchanged their vows; they’d been sweet, meaningful, and gave each other no doubts that they were truly loved. Even King Consort Samuel had been doing a suspicious amount of sniffling. Afterwards, they feasted in the grand ballroom, and they'd been so busy being congratulated by guests, they'd hardly had time to sip their sparkling elderberry wine. And of course, whenever they had a moment to themselves, Dean, The Royal Tailor, would run up and tell Samara off for sitting on her dress improperly, or lecture her for eating without wearing a protective drape (she recalled Dean’s bedraggled assistant, _‘Caleb, was it?_ ’ scoffing, “Just call it a bib, God’s _teeth_ , man”) over his grandest creation. Luckily, she'd been able to distract him by introducing him to one of her knights; a spitfire with a sharp wit. They’d hit it off immediately. Later, the wonderfully decadent wedding cake had been shared – including on their faces – and she'd grinned at the darkening of Charles' eyes when she licked some frosting off his thumb. And then there had been the dancing, and further celebrating, and more dancing. It was during a livelier song, when all of their guests were joyfully preoccupied, that they'd snuck off. 

Samara was pulled from her reminiscing when Charles came to a stop in front of a heavy pinewood door. Samara reached out to push it open then leaned up to press a kiss to her husband's neck as he walked her across the threshold. He gently lowered her to her feet before closing the door, drawing the deadbolt across for good measure. The room had been beautifully prepared for them; a merry fire blazing in the fireplace, a bottle of wine with two glasses on a side table, a selection of oils lined atop the wardrobe, several candles flickering here and there, and a smattering of scattered flower petals to add to the atmosphere. Samara turned and gripped the lapels of Chares' navy formal jacket, pulling him to her in a searing kiss.

"You are finally mine," she murmured against his lips, "In every sense of the word."

"In truth, I've always been yours," he spoke softly, trailing gentle kisses along her jawline.

"I know," she smirked, tilting her head to lightly nip his neck, enjoying the sharp inhale he made in response.

"How impertinent," he teased, bending forward to lick a solitary line along the shell of her ear.

"I could say the same of you," she retorted, undoing the fastenings of his jacket before sliding it down off his arms.

Charles reached up, hands teasingly grazing over her chest before resting just above the swell of her breasts, releasing the clasp of her cloak. Samara felt goosebumps erupt across her flesh as the white satiny fabric rippled down her bare arms to settle on the floor with his jacket. He stooped to press a kiss to each collarbone before grasping her gloved hand and leading her toward the centre of the room. Their lips met unhurriedly, tenderly, fiercely, as he guided her to place her palms against the stone column he'd brought her to, his hands resting overtop.

"Another column?" she turned and arched an eyebrow at him, "One might think you have an affinity for them."

"I think they're becoming my favourite element of castle architecture," he grinned, hands running over the silk of her long white gloves, down her arms, along her sides, smoothing around to her back where they busied themselves with the hooks of her dress, "And apart from that," he sank his teeth into the curve of her shoulder, "I know precisely what will be on your mind every time we enter a room boasting a stone column. Can you tell me otherwise?"

"N-no," she shivered, his lips crossing over a sensitive area.

"I thought not," she could feel him smirk against her skin, only growing more emboldened regarding her plan of retaliation.  
  


He finished undoing the back of her dress and slowly pulled it up over her head, gently laying it on a nearby chair so as to maintain its form - and to also keep a certain Tailor off his back, though he suspected Dean was currently busy being on someone else's back. Charles brought his front flush along her backside, once again pressing her palms to the stone.

"I believe you recall the last time I had you in such a position," his deep voice washed over her, causing her to grind back against him.

"Seems like only yesterday," she quipped, drawing a silky chuckle from him.

"Indeed," he rasped, taking in the sight of her before stepping back so that he could access the laces of her corset.   
He deftly undid the bow, and slowly began loosening the bindings, his lips brushing along her spine as more of her was exposed to him. The combination of his kisses with the relief and ability to breathe more properly left Samara feeling a bit lightheaded, the sensations further heightened by the fabric of his undershirt scratching against her already sensitized skin. He paused in his work, crouching to unhook her stockings from their garters, slowly rolling them down each leg, strategically kissing the spots he knew made her tremble. He tossed the delicate items aside and trailed his fingers back up her body to repeat the torturous process with her lace underwear. This time, it was his tongue he trailed up her leg before finally loosening the corset enough to be able to lift it over her head and place it with her dress. She turned around as he stepped away, planning to reach for him, but she was taken off guard as his lips made straight for one of her nipples. Her head tilted back so sharply, she almost knocked it against the column, particularly when his teeth joined his tongue in teasing her taut rosy peak. Her other side was not to be neglected, as it received equally pleasurable ministrations from his thumb and forefinger. Again, he took her by surprise when he bent his knees and gripped the back of her legs, lifting her before walking toward the bed. Their mouths met once more, her legs wrapping around him as he moved across the room, bending forward to lay her gently on the satin bedspread before climbing up to rest between her legs.

"Now, my Love," he kissed her forehead, "Allow me," another kiss to her shoulder, "To worship you," the side of her breast, "The way," just above her navel, "I've been dreaming of," her hip, "After such a very," her calf, "Long," the inside of her thigh, "Engagement," he punctuated the last word by firmly sucking on her clit.

"Hah!" she gasped, then found her voice, "It's only been 4 months."

" _Long_ ," he ran his tongue along her folds, "Engagement."

Then she was incapable of speech as his mouth busied itself with her centre, tongue plying her engorged flesh in a way only he knew how, while his fingers teased along her entrance. Samara knew that he was well aware how quickly he would bring her to climax this way, already feeling the stirrings of it within. Just before he could slip his fingers inside of her, she gripped his hair and gently pulled his head up, sliding out from beneath him. He eyed her curiously, watching her rise from the bed, directing him to sit on the edge of it. She brought one of her hands to his mouth, running the seam of her gloved fingertip along his lower lip until he opened for her, placing it just between his teeth.

"Bite," she said softly, eyes glued to his mouth.

He closed his teeth over the soft fabric and she slowly drew her hand away, the silk gliding off in the process. He let it drop, the glove landing over the prominent tent in his pants. She pulled off her other glove using her own teeth, watching his eyes darken. She moved to stand between his legs, relishing in the feel of his hands roaming over her skin, particularly in the vicinity of her rear. She reached behind him and undid the blue ribbon that had kept his blond tresses in place, running her fingers through them as they fell loosely about his shoulders, eyes sparking in the dim firelight. Her attention was caught by the rings on her finger, twinkling in their reflection of the flames. He captured her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckle of her ring finger, then proceeded to encourage a gush between her thighs when he drew the tip of it into his mouth, circling it with his tongue. She shivered, but managed to smirk before reaching down to pull his white linen shirt - Dean had been quite upset when Charles had insisted on it rather than fine silks - over his head. She kneeled and slowly undid the buckles of his black leather boots, sliding both those and his short woven stockings off. She ran her hands up his legs to his waist, untying the gold sash from around it before slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers and tugging them downward. He raised his hips to help her, keeping them lifted so she could remove his breeches as well. He didn't get a second to react before her mouth was on his aching cock, lips closing around the tip as her tongue teased across it.

"My lady," he groaned, fingers weaving beneath her braided updo to keep himself grounded amidst the ascension her mouth ignited.

She took him fully into her throat in a flash, triumphant on hearing the cry she'd elicited from him, her tongue curving along his shaft when she pulled her head back.

"Was that to your liking, my prince?" she teased, hand gripping the base of his length.

"You are perfection," he whispered, watching her give a repeat performance.

The speed of her motions increased, as did the suction she applied to his member, in time with a swiveling of her wrist. She'd come to know him _very_ well, particularly what pleased him, and especially the signs that he was approaching his peak; so when his breathing became erratic, and his hips started twitching, she timed the exact moment to pull away from him. She raised an eyebrow at his confused expression, a bit of the pleasurable haze clearing.

"Vixen," he exhaled, having cottoned on to her plan.

"I most certainly recall that the score is uneven," she replied nonchalantly, grabbing a nearby chair and placing it against the stone column, facing the bed.

"But it's our wedding night," he pleaded, the glint in his eyes belying his tone.

"Which makes it so perfectly us; constantly challenging each other, neither backing down, learning from one another," she smiled genuinely at him as she sat in the chair, bringing the sole of one foot to rest atop his thigh.

"I love you, madly," his voice was husky with want as he reached for her.

"And I, you," she rasped, then, "Which is why I ask that you keep your hands at your sides, my prince."

"As my Queen desires," he smirked, resting them on the blanket.

Samara kept her gaze level with his, drifting only once to the bob of his throat when he swallowed hard, having realized her intention. Her fingers drifted down, over her sparse curls, to rub lazy circles over her clit. She bit her lip both at the sensation and the way Charles was watching her, expression hungry.

"Mmm," she moaned, pressing a bit harder, her other hand occupying itself with her nipple.

Charles fisted the quilt, knuckles white when Samara pushed two fingers inside of herself, continuing to stroke her small hub of nerves with her palm.

"Oh Charles," she moaned, hand moving quicker, Charles ready to pounce.

She was close, but didn't want to leave him out entirely, so she withdrew her hand from herself and held it out for Charles'. He obeyed without hesitation, leaning forward to allow her to pull his fingers downward, pressing them against the apex of her folds. She stroked herself using his fingers, the light calluses on them adding extra sensation. 

"I love feeling you," she murmured, guiding one, then two of his digits to curve into her, continuing the stroking motion.

"The sentiment is mutual," he responded breathlessly, allowing her to control his movements, adding only a slight curve of his fingertips on the inbound thrust, able to feel how wet she was.

The length of his fingers, and knowing they were the ones touching her, brought her pinnacle about faster than she'd expected, panting out, "I-I'm coming to..." while the wave overtook her, thighs clasping around his hand as her vision filled with white. Charles could feel her muscles clenching, her slackened jaw and juddering body enticing him to bury himself within her. He just barely held back, stroking her centre gently to coax her down. When Samara had a bit more of her wits about her, she rose on wobbling legs, moving to stand in front of him. She kissed him passionately while bringing her legs up to straddle him on the edge of the bed, his throbbing length erect between them. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing it against her skin, the soft friction only the bare minimum of what he longed for.

"I would certainly say that's a victory for you, my wife, you've reduced me to a rutting beast," his voice had a rough edge to it.

"How is that different from usual?" she teased.

"Quite right," he smiled, nipping her neck, "I rather think you're enjoying yourself."

"I am," she replied sincerely, "And I am enjoying _your_ self as well."

Samara curled her fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him to her for a kiss, and he was more than happy to oblige. His hands found their way to grip her rear, feeling the muscles flex when she lifted herself enough to guide his tip to her entrance. He hadn't been entirely sure what to expect this night, and she'd more than blown him away, finding he had to inwardly recite the laws governing Samwell so he wouldn't explode immediately on contact with her. Samara slid down onto him, not stopping until their hips were pressed together. He was deep, and she was stunning. His gaze roved over her closed eyes, the way her teeth bit into her bottom lip, the heaving of her chest as she gasped, and the expression of pleasure her face held. Then their eyes met again and she raised herself back up, sinking down quicker this time, and even quicker the next time, until the sound of their bodies meeting was heard above the crackling of the fire. She could feel Charles' fingers digging into her, egging her motions on, so she suddenly halted with her forehead resting against his. His lips sought hers, their tongues meeting in the middle as she worked her velvety muscles currently surrounding his cock. Samara broke the kiss, hazel melding with sapphire, and whispered, "Foutre me, my husband."

"Your wish is my command," he growled, lifting her up slightly and keeping a tight grip with one hand, while his other planted on the bed behind him.

He began plunging into her from below, hips pistoning upward to meet the slight rocking of her pelvis, her thighs afire with the strain of holding herself in place. She had a hand on his shoulder for balance, the fingers of the other drifting down to stroke herself, matching her tempo to his. He went faster, she went faster, until their rhythm was that of the same melody, reaching their crescendo simultaneously.

"Samara," he groaned.

"Oh Charles!" she cried.

Their utterances petered out into the hush of night, the glow from the fire playing about their still-joined bodies. Charles came around first, decorating her collarbones and neck with kisses, until she became aware enough to bring her lips to his.

"And was it worth the wait?" he asked softly, holding her close.

"Without a doubt," she smiled, nudging his nose with hers, "You are worth the trouble."

"So this is how it's going to be, is it?" he replied in a tone of mock offense.

"For better or for worse," she grinned.

"I will take all of it," he murmured, "So long as I am with you."

"Likewise," she replied, kissing him once more before dismounting from his legs and crawling up the bed toward their pillows.

He walked alongside her, climbing beneath the covers and bringing her to him, both feeling the grips of slumber pulling them in. Samara went to kiss him one last time before sleep claimed them, but paused on finding him smirking contemplatively.

"What's that look for?" she asked, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Oh I've just had a thought or two," he replied, settling closer to her.

"Care to elaborate?" she spoke around a yawn.

"You shall see in time," he replied, unable to resist adding, "That revenge is so very sweet."


End file.
